


Sleepwalker

by Darthanne



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Lemon, M/M, Post-Canon, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-25
Updated: 2010-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darthanne/pseuds/Darthanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quatre relives his nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepwalker

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the characters in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any broken bones or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.
> 
> Author's notes: This is inspired by the song 'Sleepwalker' by Adam Lambert and is Lavenderfrost's fault, and therefore dedicated to her.
> 
> If you want to hear the song you can find it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbHyWXjQ9wQ

He was in the hall once more. It was a place he'd hoped never to see again; it held too many memories and regrets that were supposedly dealt with long ago. It was cold. He hated the cold, especially the loneliness of it. The temperature was an unforgiving one, and difficult to escape. Hugging himself, he shivered, the fine hairs on his chest already standing up on end.

Outside, rain was falling, a harsh unforgiving staccato. He walked over to the window, his bare feet silent on the wooden floorboards, and allowed himself a few minutes to watch it. He'd always thought of rain as cleansing, a natural way for the earth to refresh and renew itself, quenching a thirst to which he could well relate.

Sighing, he finally moved away from the window. He didn't try to open it, to use it as a means of escape. He knew from experience that it was a waste of time. There was no way out of this hall. There never had been.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut. He spun at the noise, his hand reaching for a gun he no longer carried. Old habits and instincts were difficult to break. He suspected that some of them subconsciously he didn't want to break. After all, that was what dragged him back to this place repeatedly.

That thought was not one on which he wanted to focus. Instead, he walked slowly towards the direction of the noise. This was something new; usually the only sound to be heard was the rain, or on occasion, a storm complete with thunder and lightning. Those nights had been the worst, when he'd come closest to drowning in his own despair.

His surroundings were not well lit; he trod cautiously, but tonight the memories stayed in the shadows where they belonged. He wasn't sure whether that was a good sign, or not. He preferred things out in the open; it was easier to fight something solid rather than a ghost or ghoul. Absently, he rubbed at his chest. The pain he felt was growing. But then it always did.

The hallway seemed to go on forever although logically he knew it couldn't. Everything had its natural end, whether manmade or the product of a tired mind. A few times, he stumbled and leaned momentarily against the wall, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. He felt exhausted, the cold taking the little energy he had left.

Being alone was the worst of it. He hated that more than the cold. While he, like most people, appreciated some personal space on occasions, he needed also to be able to feel people. It was a comfort, a reassurance that everything was still right with his world.

Closing his eyes, he focused and reached, his fist striking the wall in frustration when he was met with complete silence, coming up against an impenetrable blackness that even his ability and the connection he shared with the person he loved could not break through.

A moan escaped his lips at the futility of it. He muffled the noise quickly, not wanting to dwell on how he was feeling. Instead, he put one foot in front of the other and kept walking towards what he hoped was a door and a way out.

After what felt like minutes but could have been hours, as there was no way of telling how much time had passed, he saw what looked like a door at the end of this godforsaken hallway. Breaking into a run, his hope bypassing how tired felt, he found the energy for one last escape attempt.

His fingers wrapped themselves around the doorknob and turned it, calmly at first, then more frantically when it became obvious that the door was locked. He used his body as a battering ram, shoving at the sturdy wood, willing it to open, or to break, but to no avail. Dressed in only the boxers he had worn to bed, he had no lock picks, no other way of getting it open. A faint whisper of logic told him to try pulling it open but that didn't work and there was nothing available to use to get enough of a grip on it to attempt to prise the top, bottom or sides of it either.

Finally, he admitted defeat and allowed himself to slide down the door, with his back to it, to sit on the floor. His muscles ached; they were raw from the exertion as were his emotions. He was tired of this prison, even though he knew it was one of his own making.

A picture on the wall caught his eye; it was slightly out of focus. He got unsteadily to his feet and walked slowly over to it, his curiosity piqued. A sigh escaped his lips and he traced the face of the person in it softly with one finger, the single word he whispered, loud and echoing in this empty place.

"Trowa."

Something moved to the side of him; regret and pain brushed against his heart. Quatre turned quickly, his eyes widening when he saw the body on the floor. He ran to it, an invisible knife piercing him, twisting as he knelt, lifting the man who lay in front of him into his arms, cradling him.

"Trowa..."

Trowa's eyes opened, but already Quatre could see the life leaving them, the light dulling to an echo of the man he loved. "No regrets, Cat. You promised me, no regrets." Trowa coughed, linking his fingers with Quatre, stroking Quatre's thumb gently, the movement stilling when he closed his eyes again.

"NO!" Quatre held Trowa tightly to him, screaming his name, reaching for him. But it was too late. It was always too late.

"Cat." Strong arms pulled him close, a familiar voice whispering reassurances. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm okay."

Quatre shook his head, still not opening his eyes, not wanting to let go of the Trowa in his dream, not wanting to leave him alone in this place. He felt Trowa's, his Trowa's, concern and love reach for him, the emotions, tinged with sadness, wrapping tightly around Quatre, keeping his husband safe.

"No," Quatre whispered, pulling away. He should be the one keeping Trowa safe. But he couldn't do that; he'd failed Trowa in the dream just like he had long ago in reality.

"Look at me, Quatre." Trowa's voice was very calm. "You were having a nightmare. You're safe now. We both are."

Slowly, Quatre forced himself to open his eyes. Trowa was on his knees on the bed they shared, his arms open. He looked and felt concerned, and sad. Outside the rain fell softly, their bedroom dimly lit, echoing the dreamscape, reality and dream seeming to mix and merge.

Quatre sat back against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees, shivering and shaking. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry."

"I know. So am I."

This was his reality, not the other. Wasn't it? Suddenly Quatre launched forward, pulling Trowa into his arms, touching him, kissing him hard, needing proof of what was true. He felt Trowa open himself up in return. He kissed Quatre back equally as fiercely, projecting love and calm as strongly as he could.

Usually it would be enough, but tonight too much had broken. Quatre needed more. Breaking the kiss he eased Trowa back on the bed so that he was lying on his back. Trowa opened his mouth to protest but Quatre placed a finger on his lips to quieten him. Touch was what was important at this moment; they would talk later.

Trowa nodded minutely, giving his permission, letting Quatre know that this was okay. Even now, with the need Quatre had, he would not do anything that Trowa did not want. Nor would Trowa have if their positions were reversed. Their relationship was built on mutual trust, friendship and love, and nothing was worth risking that.

Although Quatre had asked for no conversation as yet, he could still feel Trowa's concern. He answered it by smiling and projecting love and reassurance in return. That act earned him a frown; Trowa knew better than to believe that. He also knew the stuff of Quatre's nightmares and that if he needed this and now, that it was not a good sign.

Sighing, Quatre instead straddled Trowa, kissing him on the lips, softly at first and then more deeply, tasting him, savouring him, wanting, needing to convince himself that this was their reality. The other was a dream; it was not a future that would happen anymore than it had been the outcome of past events.

Normally their lovemaking after a dream like this would be hard, fast and desperate but Quatre wanted this to last. He wanted to explore Trowa thoroughly, touch him, taste him, to forget the memories that brought him to that hallway too many times than he wanted to admit.

Trowa leaned into the kiss, bringing his hands up to thread through Quatre's hair. Quatre took his husband's hands in his, breaking their kiss to run his lips over Trowa's fingertips. "Let me, love. Please." He needed to do this. Carefully he guided Trowa's hands over his head so that they were resting on the headboard.

He eased Trowa's hips off the bed, pulling down his boxers, and quickly removed his own.

Sitting back for a moment, he ran his eyes over the length of Trowa's body, lingering on his face, and then on his groin. Quatre couldn't and wouldn't hide the hunger in his eyes. God, Trowa was so beautiful, the scars he carried, making him even more so. Each one was a memory, a marker, of Trowa's life, of what he'd experienced without Quatre and together with him. There were more of the latter than the former. Quatre bit his lip, the words Trowa had told him replaying in his mind, "No regrets, Cat. You promised me, no regrets."

Bending his head, Quatre licked Trowa's lips and then a trail down his chin to his neck, nuzzling at his Adam's apple. Quatre lowered himself onto Trowa. He sketched his husband in his mind, using his lips as a brush, moving across then lower, finding a slow melodic rhythm, Trowa's body responding to embrace Quatre's in turn.

Quatre closed his eyes, focusing on the picture he was building, the feel of Trowa's skin, and the breathy noises he made, the soft moans, touching his heart in the way that only being together could.

A groan escaped Quatre's lips; he could feel his own cock responding to being with Trowa like this, with nothing between them. Nothing physical anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Quatre reached up and removed Trowa's hands from the headboard, opening himself up to his husband, their emotions mixing and merging, Quatre's fear of losing the person he truly loved, tempered by Trowa's empathic reassurance that whatever happened they would always be together.

A tear fell, the salty droplet landing on Trowa's stomach to run into his navel. Trowa put his arms around Quatre, holding him tightly to him, taking the control Quatre needed, keeping the dance going, moving them both until Quatre felt up to playing the next movement.

He ran one hand up and down Quatre's side, knowing that Quatre would be reassured by that touch, keeping it light, but very much present. "I love you, Cat," he whispered, kissing Quatre's hair.

Quatre managed a nod, his focus on how Trowa felt, both empathically and physically. Reassurance that this was real; that was the need driving him at this moment. Taking a deep breath, he pulled back a fraction, smiling wanly. "I love you too," he replied, caressing Trowa's face. "My love. My Trowa."

"Yours, Cat." Trowa kissed Quatre's fingertips one by one. "I've always been yours, even if it took us both a while to work that out." He smiled slightly, regret and shadows of the past chased away quickly by the love, need and desire of his and Quatre's present and future together. "I'm not leaving you. You're my life, just as much as I am yours. Whatever happens it's to both of us." He paused. "I'm also not planning on dying anytime soon."

"But..." Quatre sighed, his question of how Trowa had known cut off by the knowledge that Trowa always knew. Not only about Quatre's fears, but his nightmares. Trowa had his own bad dreams; the events of the war had left scars on both of them, and not just the physical ones they both carried. They were also both very aware that however much they promised each other they would always be together that that choice might not be theirs to make when the time came. But for tonight, they would give into the illusion that it would be. That it could be.

Neither of them was in the mood for reality. There had been too much of that in both their lives. Tonight they would make their own.

"I know you, love." Trowa smiled and kissed Quatre softly. His voice softened. "I also know your nightmares. Do you want to talk about this one?"

Quatre shook his head. Come morning he would, but not now.

"Later, then." Trowa shifted so that he could pull Quatre closer. Quatre shifted obediently, straddling Trowa and kissing him again.

"Later." Trowa's hands felt so good running up and down Quatre's back. Quatre leaned into his husband's touch and sighed, but this time it was a sigh of contentment, of feeling good in the arms of the man he loved.

Trowa's hands moved lower as he lay back on the bed, bringing Quatre with him. They kissed again, but this time it wasn't the frantic needy touch of earlier; this was more leisurely, of two lovers who had the night to spend together, to explore each other's bodies completely, to give of each other in a mutual surrender.

Opening his mouth, Trowa gave Quatre access, their tongues caressing in a lazy motion, as they rubbed their bodies against each other, a slight hiss escaping Quatre's lips into the kiss as his cock brushed against Trowa's.

Breaking the kiss, Trowa smirked, just a little, and squeezed Quatre's arse with one hand, teasing his entrance. Quatre arched up, his backside in the air so that Trowa could keep touching, as he licked down Trowa's body, kissing and nipping at the skin. This time it was Trowa's turn to hiss in pleasure. "Oh god, Cat," he breathed.

Quatre couldn't resist a smirk of his own. Moving further down, reluctantly as Trowa's hand would have to move, he licked the tip of Trowa's cock, feeling more than a little smug when Trowa arched his hips off the bed in response. Focusing, he projected love and desire, and this time took it into his mouth and sucked.

"Fuck!" Trowa thrust into Quatre's mouth, his hands shifting to thread through Quatre's hair, tightening when Quatre repeated the motion.

"I thought that was the idea." Quatre let Trowa's cock fall from his mouth, brushing his finger across the tip of it, collecting the little bit of precum that had already formed. He slid his finger into his mouth, slowly sucking on it, aware of Trowa's eyes on him, and the reaction it was having on both of them. Trowa wasn't the only one who wanted this badly, Quatre needed to be in his husband, to feel him as completely as he could. To join their bodies as one, just as their emotions and desires were already merging.

"Please." Trowa was already reaching for the lube from the bedside table. "I want you in me, Cat." He opened himself fully to Quatre empathically, the rush of pure need sending a shiver through both of them.

Wriggling up the bed, Trowa watched hungrily as Quatre undid the lube. Trowa arched himself off the bed, spreading his legs, confirming his permission for Quatre to prep him. They'd both had enough foreplay, their need from earlier had returned in force, and Quatre would never deny Trowa anything he wanted or vice versa, although both did their fair share of teasing depending on the mood of the moment.

Swallowing, Quatre handed the lube to Trowa, leaning into Trowa's touch when he prepped Quatre in turn, stroking his cock while coating it liberally. Trowa's skin was already covered in a fine sheen of perspiration; both of them were flushed and breathing heavily. God, he was so beautiful. Quatre wondered, not for the first time, how he'd come to deserve this, to have a man such as Trowa love him so much, so completely, and to want him the same way.

"I love you, Trowa," he whispered, already starting to push in even before Trowa had dropped the tube onto the bed and pulled Quatre back into his arms. "I've always loved you."

"I know, love. I know." Trowa's voice was rough in Quatre's ear, the unspoken words behind the emotion thick between them. There had been too much regret, too much time wasted. The war might be over but with the lives they'd led, they both wondered how long they would get together, how long it would be before what they had was snatched away.

Trowa's embrace tightened. He shivered. It wasn't just Quatre who had nightmares, who was scared of one day losing the man he loved.

"It's okay, love." Quatre kissed Trowa softly. "I'm here." This was often the way it went, the reassurance shifting from one to the other, each feeding the other's emotions as they mixed and merged through their empathic bond. It was more so that way when they made love; it was when their connection was at its most open, and raw.

Rather than responding in words, Trowa wrapped his legs around Quatre, pulling him in, while strongly projecting love and need. Kissing Trowa again, Quatre began to move in his husband, Trowa arching up to meet Quatre half way.

Outside the rain was falling more heavily, the patter of it on the roof above them the only noise in the room apart from heavy breathing and soft exclamations of desire and pleasure as the two men joined as one.

Although both of them wanted this to last, tonight their need was too great. Already Quatre could feel the heat pooling in his groin as he began to come. Trowa closed his eyes and tilted his head back, his mouth partly open as a silent scream escaped his lips.

Reaching out empathically, Quatre surrendered himself to Trowa, just as he had when they'd first met ten years before, and let go. "Trowa!" He kissed Trowa deeply, letting out a sigh into the kiss, wrapping himself around his husband and lover. "I love you, I love you."

Trowa opened his eyes and smiled. "I love you too, Cat."

They held each other tightly, their hearts racing, but their emotions and fears calming. They were together. Everything was right with their world, at least for now.

Caressing Quatre's face, Trowa's smiled softened. "Sleep, love. We're both tired and tomorrow is another day." He shifted slightly to give Quatre room to pull out then pulled him close again. They'd clean up in the morning; neither of them wanted to move and Quatre was already feeling sleepy. He was exhausted; it had been one hell of a night. Trowa kissed the top of Quatre's head, and murmured something indecipherable, the words muffled by a yawn.

"Another day," Quatre mumbled, his eyes already closing. He snuggled in close to Trowa, listening to his heartbeat and steady breathing, taking solace in both of them. Trowa was safe in his arms tonight and that was what mattered.

Tomorrow would be another day.


End file.
